


Take a Cup of Kindness Yet

by loveinisolation



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Klaine, M/M, New Year's Eve, with a teeny touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:55:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinisolation/pseuds/loveinisolation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys meet at a bar in Ohio on New Year’s Eve. Written for NYE 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Cup of Kindness Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d (and I’m tired so who knows how many weird mistakes there are…) Please excuse the cliche Auld Lang Syne lyric title...

Somehow it feels incredibly depressing to be in a bar on New Year’s Eve. Or maybe it’s just depressing because Kurt is single and has been abandoned at a little table in the corner while his friends pair off with their significant others or other single bar patrons.

That’s easy enough for most of them but this isn’t New York; it isn’t the generally open-minded city that Kurt has grown accustomed to, it’s the conservative small-town world he grew up constantly trying to escape.

If it had been New York, Kurt wouldn’t have had any qualms about letting a couple of drinks sap away his inhibitions and finding a boy or two to flirt with, maybe to make out with for a while. But he’s in Ohio, and in Ohio – even in the city where there is possibly a little more acceptance than out in the smaller towns – if Kurt starts flirting he risks hitting on someone who will, at best, reject him and call him something unpleasant.

 

He doesn’t want to think about the worst reaction he might encounter.

Of course the same risk exists everywhere – even in places like New York not everything is all rainbows and puppies and acceptance. The difference is that in New York three quarters of the bar would get behind Kurt rather than the person offended by his sexuality.

So Kurt sits in the corner nursing a rum and coke. He isn’t entirely sure why he even agreed to come, except that after years of living in New York he had clearly forgotten how very oppressive other places could feel even when no one was paying any attention to him. But this is the first time the motley collection of ex-New Directions members had all been 21 while back visiting family for the holidays, and so those who were there through New Year’s had agreed to find a bar and celebrate together. Even though he enjoys these reunions and likes to see his old friends, Kurt really wishes he had gone back to the insane press of bodies that is Time’s Square on New Year’s Eve.

He is halfway through the next drink (one Mercedes brings him when she takes a break between very interested men to come talk to him for a few minutes), the world beginning to feel ever so slightly fuzzy around the edges, when a boy around his age seems to get smooshed out of the crowd of people dancing and stumbles a few steps into the edge of the table Kurt occupies.

The boy is rumpled and clearly more than halfway drunk, hair a frizzed mass of curls and face open and laughing as he catches himself on the edge of the table. He plunks down in the one chair that Kurt has managed to keep from the buzzards constantly trying to steal empty seats – it’s a bar on New Year’s Eve, there is nowhere near enough seating to go around, and no matter how hard he tries even Kurt’s bitch glare can’t stop people from wandering off with unoccupied chairs. The boy doesn’t even seem to notice Kurt is there, sitting as he is with his head tilted back and scruffy jaw and throat completely on display.

Kurt tries not to stare, but really what’s the harm when the boy hasn’t even seen him yet? Eventually the boy drops his head against his arms where they’re folded on the table, groaning in a way that sounds like he’s in pain.

“Are you alright?” Kurt asks. The boy stays still for a moment before he slowly raises his head and blinks blearily across the table. His eyes go wide and owlish when he realizes that he isn’t alone at the table. Or maybe Kurt just isn’t who he was expecting to see, judging by the way the boy glances around him and then stares hard across the room as though he can actually see through the writhing bodies in the way. 

“Oh, shit, sorry.” The boy says, still blinking at Kurt. “I think I got a little disordenented. Dis-ooor-ee-enn-ted.” The boy drags out all the sounds of the word on the second try, alcohol clearly causing him to fumble around the sounds. “Pretty sure my friends are on the other side of the room.” He hooks a thumb sloppily over his shoulder in the direction of where Kurt knows there are more tables.

“Oh.” Kurt says, feeling rather ineloquent and also rather stunned by the pretty amber colour of the boy’s eyes.

“I should-” the boy plants his hands as though to push himself out of the chair, but then sags back into it instead of even really trying. “Wes would understand why this is bad.” The boy hangs his head, one hand coming up to rub over his stubbled jaw (Kurt watches the action and momentarily considers that maybe both he and the boy across from him are old enough that he ought to start thinking of them as men rather than boys).

“You can tell me about it if you want to.” Kurt’s brain hasn’t even processed the words before they’re out of his mouth. Bright eyes scan Kurt’s face, bouncing from his eyes to his mouth briefly before settling back on the crowd. The boy heaves a breath and seems to decide that Kurt is an acceptable substitute for whoever Wes is, if only because talking to Kurt doesn’t require moving.

“Drinking makes me stupid.” The boy admits, and Kurt can’t help but laugh.

“I think that’s true of everyone.”

“No, but like…” the boy seems to lose his words momentarily, or maybe he just can’t figure out how to explain his particular brand of drunken stupidity. “I tend to kiss girls?” He says it like a question, and Kurt tries really hard to understand.

“And that’s stupid?” He asks slowly, feeling like he’s missing a key piece of the puzzle. The boy sighs in frustration, though it doesn’t seem to be directed at Kurt or his lack of understanding.

“It is if you’re gay.” The boy speaks quietly, sounding far more sober than he has thus far. He glances briefly over at Kurt, and Kurt can see clearly the moment of fear that flashes through his eyes, knows that his own would do the same if he were to make such an admission to a stranger in a place like this.

“Oh.” Kurt says again, so softly that the boy probably doesn’t even hear him. “I can see how that would be problematic…?” He trails off, unsure of what else to say because really beyond the weirdness of kissing a girl (Kurt is so never doing that again if he can help it) he actually doesn’t really see the problem. It isn’t like kissing someone in a bar is generally considered much of a promise of eternal commitment to one another, so what does it matter?

“No, you don’t get it.” The boy groans again, obviously frustrated with his own inability to communicate the issue properly. He rearranges himself on the chair and faces Kurt across the table. “I kiss girls at parties and at bars because it’s safer than kissing who I really want to kiss.” Kurt feels the boy’s nearly golden eyes boring into his own and feels like there’s a message in that look if only he could decipher it.

“Oh.” He sucks in a breath. Kurt is starting to feel like a broken record with that response, but at least this time he gets it. He understands the issue that this boy has, because even though Kurt doesn’t kiss girls so that he doesn’t get himself in trouble planting an unwanted kiss on an unknown boy, he does seclude himself in the corner of the bar to accomplish the same thing. He blinks slowly, realizing that they’re still staring at each other across the table.

“I really want to kiss you.” The boy’s voice is low, barely a growl of sound obviously not intended to be said out loud, but the words seem to sear themselves in Kurt’s brain as his cheeks flood with heat. He’s nowhere near the blushing virgin he was in high school, but it still sometimes surprises him when men show an interest, and the one sitting across from him is undoubtedly attractive.

The next second the boy looks as though he wishes he could suck the words right back, eyes tightly shut and lips pressed together in a harsh line as though waiting for something awful to happen. Kurt watches him for a moment and then reaches out to place a hand over the one the boy has on the table. There’s a moment where the boy seems to flinch away, before he relaxes incrementally until he is looking across at Kurt with something like awe. Their hands curl together almost automatically, a feeling of contentment seeming to wash over them there in their little corner of the crowded bar.

Kurt isn’t really sure how long they sit like that, ignoring their surroundings, but all at once something shifts and everyone seems to be getting ready to count down to midnight. Kurt clambers up, not letting go of the hand in his, but tugging on it gently “c’mon, uh,” he pauses momentarily, realizing that he doesn’t even know the boy’s name.

“Blaine.” They boy says, a grin stretching across his face as he too climbs to his feet.

“Kurt.” Kurt replies in kind, shifting to get a better grip on Blaine’s hand. “We should go if we want to make it in time for midnight!” Kurt says, and Blaine looks as though he has no idea what Kurt is talking about, but he willingly follows him anyway. There aren’t many places for them to go, not if he wants to make it for midnight, but Kurt tugs Blaine after him and out the back door (it’s generally used by smokers who need a cigarette break, but thankfully everyone seems to have migrated inside for the countdown to midnight). They end up out in the parking lot, shivering in the cold night air, but all alone under a nearly full moon.

As they pull to a stop they can hear the sounds of the countdown begin from inside the bar, the patrons shouting along with the last 10 seconds before the New Year. As the shouts of “Happy New Year” ring out in the air Kurt steps in and presses his lips gently against Blaine’s. It’s a short kiss… followed by about a dozen other kisses set to the sounds of Auld Lang Syne that drift out from the bar.

“Happy New Year.” Blaine whispers, and Kurt giggles happily against Blaine’s lips in reply.

It may be a bar in Ohio rather than an elegant party in New York, but maybe that isn’t so depressing after all.


End file.
